Invisible Lines
by solroros
Summary: A story about sundered families, lost bloodlines, and the lies our elders tell us. HP/HG, imminent bashing of authority figures and Weasleys - rating might go up if Harry's mouth runs away with him
1. Prologue

Author's Note: I promise, promise, promise that I will be continuing "By Candlelight". However, this conspiracy bunny would crawl back into its tinfoil cage. The central point of this story, plot-wise, came to me when I was trying to think of why, beyond the expected and easy reasons, purebloods would hate Muggle-borns. Naturally, my mind took the most convoluted route from Point A to Point B.

This is just a taste. Let me know if you're intrigued!

* * *

Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's resident know-it-all, raised her hand, eager to get the attention of her Arithmancy teacher, Professor Vector. The topic for the week, the final week of the summer term, was spell potency and how it might best be calculated.

Hermione was fascinated by Arithmancy, which she likened to mathematics. More art than science, however, Arithmancy pierced the Trelawney-esque wooliness that surrounded the rest of her magical education and sought the building blocks of magic, and life itself. For someone with a nature as curious and exacting as Hermione's, it was everything she hoped it would be.

There was one major point, however, on which she required clarification.

"But professor, if we can calculate the power of a spell to the smallest possible kerjigger, why can't we calculate our own potential magical power?"

Professor Vector, a dry-voiced woman in her forties, froze. The entire class of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw fourth-years turned to look at Hermione.

"It is impossible to calculate, with any accuracy, the magical power of any given individual," Vector said stiffly. "Everyone knows this."

_Well obviously I don't._

"But Professor-" Vector cut her off with an impatient wave of her hand.

"Magical power is derived from will, and an extra ability that cannot be quantified!" The class, made up mostly of purebloods, looked around uncomfortably. Terry Boot and Padma Patil exchanged an uneasy glance.

"Professor please-"

"Ten points from Gryffindor! And detention, Miss Granger."

Hermione's jaw dropped. She never got detention, not for asking a question in class. Not for anything, really.

"I don't understand," Hermione said in a small voice. "Everything in the universe can be quantified, that's the point of Arithmancy."

Vector approached her desk, more menacing than Hermione had ever supposed her capable of being. "It is impossible," she said with a tone of finality.

Hermione was not one for giving up. "Nothing is impossible, not with magic," she said, almost desperately.

"Trust your elders, Miss Granger," Vector replied in a stern voice that seemed to echo through the halls of Hogwarts. "They know what is best."


	2. Obliviate

A/N: Well, there was some interest, so we press on. For some reason I had difficulty getting things started – putting things in the right order is difficult – but you should see chapters two and three go up rather quickly. Things aren't looking great for Hermione right now, but you gotta go through hell to get to heaven. Or to earn heaven. Or to deserve it? Don't ask me, I didn't make the rules.

* * *

Harry was bound to a headstone in an unfamiliar cemetery, not like he hung around cemeteries long enough to be familiar with any, staring at Cedric's corpse. Only moments before that body had been a vital, kind, intelligent young man. A young man Harry insisted take the Triwizard Cup with him. Now he was plant food.

"Look at me, Harry," Voldemort's sibilant voice whispered. Though he tried, Harry could not stop his head from moving towards the Dark Lord. "That's it, my boy. Now, let's see what's in your head."

Voldemort's mind dove into Harry's, no barriers at all between them. The older wizard rifled through Harry's memories, seeking out the brightest moments of his life and the darkest.

_Who is she? _Voldemort's voice commanded in his head as memories of Hermione flew past his ,mind's eye. _She looks so-_

"Who is she?" Voldemort repeated as he extracted himself from Harry's mind.

Harry groaned, the pain of reliving every single beating from Uncle Vernon quite fresh in his mind. The memories Voldemort had recently looked at, memories of his best friend, gave him strength enough to look the Dark wizard in the eye.

"I'll never tell you," Harry gasped. Voldemort's lips curled in a smile.

"Oh, you will."

The Dark Lord perused Harry's thoughts once more, garnering everything they could about Hermione – her name, her intelligence, her home address, how Harry felt about her.

If the timing were different, Harry would have taken a moment to examine that himself.

"That old bastard," Voldemort said, almost under his breath, as he removed himself from Harry's mind once more.

"What do you want with Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Nothing that you need to know about," Voldemort replied as he raised his wand. "Now, I'm afraid we have other things to be getting on with. _Obliviate_."

* * *

Three days into summer vacation, Hermione was home alone while her parents tended to their practice. Gazing at the shelves of her personal library, Hermione admitted to herself that her home life was a little lonely. She loved her parents dearly, and they seemed to reciprocate, but they were a bit distant. Not at all what she had seen with the Weasleys, or even in the homes of her few childhood friends. Not all parents were the same, but sometimes it seemed as though...

_No, don't go thinking like that_, she thought to herself as she perused her library. _They're just different, not better or worse than anyone else's parents._

She sighed, dissatisfied with the books in front of her. Each and every one had been read more than three times, and none brought her the answers she sought. Despite the warnings of Professor Vector at the end of last term, she still believed there was an untapped potential to study the magical core of wizards and witches.

Pulling down _Arithmancy Anecdotes: a History of Arithmancy and Its Uses_, she decided to research exactly why the study of magical cores was forbidden, and if it had ever been allowed. Despite her reverence for authority figures, when one is friends with Harry Potter one learns to questions the rules a bit.

By lunch time, she had not made much headway. Her mind had been preoccupied since the events of the Triwizard Tournament. She would never forget the look on Harry's face when he Portkeyed back to the stadium – the pain, the guilt, the horror. He was her best friend, even if he was a prat sometimes, and no one liked to see their best friend suffering. She wished there was a way she could make it better, besides the one she knew for certain was forbidden to her.

"_He doesn't see you like that, Mione," Ron said, laying a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Told me himself. He thinks of you like a sister, nothing more."_

"_Ron are you sure?" Hermione asked. "I've felt this way forever, since first year. Surely if I just talked to him-"_

"_You know how Harry is," Ron said, tightening his grip. "It would just make things awkward. Besides, I know he has a crush on Cho, and Ginny likes him too. You couldn't do that to Ginny, could you?"_

Hermione shook her head. There was no hope Harry would see her as anything other than a swotty little bookworm, as a sister with the answers to all life's problems, the helper in times of need. Boys didn't wan to date smart girls – they wanted the Chos and Ginnys of the world. Athletic, pretty, popular, and just smart enough to get by. She would do better to forget any less-than-fraternal feelings.

Oh well, at least she could be there for him. She was leaving for the Order's Headquarters tonight, and expected Harry to be joining them shortly. Dumbledore had forbidden her from writing him, and all the letters she had sent anyway had come back via a different owl. It didn't make sense to her, given that Harry probably needed his friends (and godfather) more than ever right now, but she had to bow to Dumbledore's greater wisdom.

Right?

* * *

Molly Weasley glanced around Grimmauld Place, a grim expression on her face. This was how the better half lived? Even for Dark wizards, the Black family's taste was atrocious. The credenza in the entry way was entirely too large for the space, and those lighting fixtures were really in poor taste. Not to mention the dust rising with every step on the ancient carpets. She sighed, thinking ahead to how she could get Harry and Hermione to help her children clean everything, without magic of course, once they arrived.

Those two were troubled, and no mistake. Hermione always had to put herself forward in such an unseemly manner, and Harry, well, his upbringing left much to be desired. If he could only have been raised in a proper Wizarding household (capitalization necessary), then he surely would have been betrothed to her Ginny by now.

In the meantime, there were always love and hate potions. Even a fool could see how Harry and Hermione looked at each other, how well-matched they were. And Molly Weasley was no fool It had taken many love potions to convince her Arthur that they were meant to be – she had no qualms of her daughter following in her footsteps. How else was a witch to ensnare her wizard?

The same was true of Ron and Hermione, of course. Hermione was one powerful witch, and she would bear powerful children for House Weasley. And if Ron had to teach her how to act more demurely, as a good wife should, well, that was between them.

Sirius would be a problem, though. The man was such a Gryffindor, especially in his need to tell everyone the truth all the time. There were some truths the children didn't need to know, some subtle nudges in the correct direction necessary to their well-being and happiness. With Dumbledore's assurances firmly in her mind, Molly was certain she knew what was best for all involved.

With a heavy sigh, Molly sought out the master of the house. It was time to remind Sirius Black of the _true_ parental figure in Harry Potter's life – her.


	3. Unwanted

The first two weeks of summer holiday passed quickly for Hermione, lost in a blur of Arithmancy books and returned owls. It seemed that Dumbledore was serious about restricting her contact with Harry this summer. She learned that Arithmancy was first developed by Rowena Ravenclaw herself, and improved in later centuries mostly by members of her house. However, in the last century discoveries had all but ceased in the most scientific of magical disciplines.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she read on. Most talented Arithmancers were employed by the Department of Mysteries, as Unspeakables or Unknowables. Hermione knew, by hearsay, that the best and brightest of the wizarding world often went to work for the Ministry as opposed to entering the private sector, but this trend bothered her.

Though things had recently been a little rocky with her parents, Hermione decided that she did not have the proper adult perspective and needed to ask them about it. In a veiled manner, of course.

"Dad, where would you say the best scientists in the country work today?" she asked as she passed the potatoes at dinner that night. Evan Granger thought for a moment.

"I would have to say that they mostly work for private foundations. Some of them work for the HPA, of course, but the money is in the private sector."

"Why do you think that some choose to work for the government?"

"Besides the fact that it's a public service and some feel called? I'm sure there are recruiters, just like anything else. But the best and the brightest are out making the biggest salaries they can."

"So, if the government offered the best salary, that's probably where they would work?" Evan nodded.

"There's also a question of prestige, of course. Some jobs are more important than others, and many scientists, and other people, measure their own self-worth by their role in society and the working world. Why the sudden interest, Hermione?" The youngest Granger shifted uncomfortably. Her parents did not like to discuss her… secret, as they called it.

"No reason," she said, spearing a piece of roast.

_So it all comes back to money? Wizards make the best money at the Ministry? Or it just makes them feel important? I can understand wanting to make the world a better place, I certainly want to, but it does not seem to be the Ministry's aim…_

She really wished she had someone in the wizarding world to talk to about this, but there was no one she really trusted apart from Harry and he was just as clueless as she was. Ron was her friend, of course, but he had a tendency to brush aside any of her questions or subtly belittle her for her ignorance. Not that he did it consciously, of course, he was just being Ron.

With a sigh, Hermione added the question of why working at the Ministry was the best move for talented magicals to her pile of research topics. Maybe she could speak with Mr. Weasley when she went to the Burrow later in the summer.

A month into the summer holiday, Pigwidgeon arrived with an invitation for Hermione to join the Weasleys at the Burrow. Ron neglected to say who would be picking Hermione up from her house, just that they would be there the next day at 18:00.

"Thanks for the advanced notice," Hermione muttered, glancing around at the mess that was her room. Books and clothes were strewn everywhere, and Crookshanks had left a fine coating of glossy orange hair over the lot. She was not normally a messy person, but she was in research mode.

That evening, as she sat with her parents in the den, she informed them that she would be leaving the following day. Her parents exchanged glances, and her father cleared his throat nervously.

"As tomorrow is Thursday, you know your father and I will be working late," Clarisse Granger said. "We will likely not be back by the time you leave."

"I understand," Hermione said quietly, looking down at her hands.

"Which is why we need to have this talk now," Clarisse continued, a note of determination in her voice. "Hermione, there is no good way to say this, so I will be blunt: you are adopted."

Hermione's head shot up so quickly she got a crick in her neck. It hurt almost as much as the distant looks in her parents' eyes.

"Adopted?" Hermione asked, a little breathlessly.

"That's right," Ewan said. "My wife and I have given this a lot of thought, and, well, this just isn't working out."

"Isn't working out?" Hermione repeated. Her brain was shutting down even as her eyes filled with tears.

"Now, now, none of that," Clarisse said. "You feel it too. There's too much distance, too much strangeness. This is not how a family should be, and we would like to free all of us from what has become a farce."

_A farce?_ She couldn't bring herself to repeat that one.

"We would like to have you emancipated in the normal world," Ewan said. "You'll be sixteen in September, and we have money set aside to maintain your economic self-sufficiency."

"What we need from you is to find someone to become your adult guardian until you reach the age of majority, preferably a wizard with some contacts in the normal world."

Hermione nodded dumbly. Her parents did not want her. It was possible they had not wanted her for a long time. Now they wanted her to be someone else's problem.

"Is this because I'm a witch?" she asked. "Because I'm not _normal_?"

"I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a factor," Clarisse said emotionlessly. "But there are other extenuating circumstances. You know you are not happy, and we are not happy. This seems to be the best choice for all involved."

Hermione nodded. Her parents were logical to a fault, a trait she had often been accused of displaying. Truthfully, the use of logic in the face of emotion went against her passionate nature – her crusade for house elf rights during the previous year was a prime example. She was just trying to be like them, trying to make them love her.

"You said that I have money?"

"Yes, it would have been your college fund, but once you went to that school we knew you wouldn't need it. I've been investing it, and the stock market has been kind. Last week I transferred all liquid assets to an account in your name at our bank. You are free to do with it as you please."

Hermione took a deep breath. The only part of her brain not currently swimming in a pool of despair noted that she would have to go to Gringotts and added it to the running checklist of her life, complete with a red asterisk for emphasis. "How long do I have to find a new guardian?"

"Preferably by the end of Christmas holidays, but sooner is always better than later, as we've told you in the past." Hermione nodded again.

"Is there anything else?"

"No, I would say that about sums it up." She waited for her former parents to say something else, perhaps offer an apology or a parting handshake, but they said nothing. After a moment of awkward and heavy silence, Hermione stood shakily. There were many things she wanted to say to these people who were supposed to love her, but she knew her words would fall on deaf ears.

"Thank you," was all she said before she went upstairs.

Hermione did not join her former parents for breakfast the next day, and they did not try to see her before they left for work. Instead, she lay on her bed and mentally reviewed the checklist of all the things she needed to do (a list which had grown substantially overnight):

-find a magical/muggle guardian who was convinced she was worth the trouble (she was not entirely convinced of that at the moment)

-go to Gringotts and open an account, ask about investing options

-cry until this stopped hurting

-pack up her stuff

At least one of these could be accomplished at present, but she couldn't find the energy to move from her bed. Crookshanks was stretched out beside her, aware that his human was upset and purring in order to make her feel better. In his infinite kneazle intelligence, he could tell that his efforts were futile.

The sunlight and shadows moved through Hermione's bedroom, but still she did not rise from her bed, change out of her bedclothes, or make any effort to leave. Once she left this house, she would likely never return. She was not sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, her adopted parents obviously did not love her. How could anyone who loved their child give that child up? On the other, she had believed that they were her parents for so long. Who were her parents? Were they magical? Why did they abandon her too?

The knock on the door promptly at 18:00 shook her from her thoughts. Hermione looked around her room and groaned, hoping her escorts would not mind hanging around for an extra hour. She slowly made her way downstairs to the front door, not even bothering to change out of her sleep cami and shorts or to run a brush through her unruly hair. It was probably just Mr. Weasley after all, he wouldn't care.

Finding Remus Lupin and an unknown witch on the other side was the last thing she expected, but it would take more than that to shake her from her misery.

"Hello Professor, ma'am," Hermione said. "Come on in. Sorry, I'm not entirely packed yet." Zombie-like, she closed the door behind them as Remus gave her a worried look.

"I haven't been a professor in over a year, Hermione, you can call me Remus."

"Sure."

"And I'm Tonks," the unknown witch said, extending her hand and a smile to the distraught witch.

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said, ignoring the handshake. "You can come on up, sorry it's kind of a mess." Hermione turned and walked slowly up the stairs.

"Wow," Tonks said in an undertone to Remus. "I thought you said she was a real control freak. What's her deal?"

"I'm not sure," Remus said, following Hermione with worry in his eyes.

They reached Hermione's room, where she was haphazardly tossing books and clothes into her trunk.

"Need a hand?" Tonks asked. Hermione shrugged, so Tonks waved her wand and the rest of Hermione's belongings sailed into the trunk.

"Thanks," Hermione said, digging out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from the neatly stacked piles. "I'll just go change."

When she returned, the worried looks on Remus and Tonks's faces had deepened. Hermione wordlessly grabbed Crookshanks and hugged him close as they descended the stairs, Tonks floating Hermione's trunk behind them. Hermione did not pause as she stepped through the front door, and chose not to look back.

"Aren't your parents here to say goodbye?" Remus asked, turning to look at the empty house.

"No," Hermione said. With another glance at Tonks, Remus hooked Hermione's arm in his and Disapparated.

* * *

Sirius wandered into the library sometime after midnight, trying to recall if there was a bottle of Ogden's still stashed behind the _Dark Liquids and How to Brew Them_ on the third shelf from the back. He was still sloshed, naturally, from the bottle he had finished only moments before. A bloke had to stay drunk to deal with Molly Weasley's henpecking. It was a wonder Arthur was _only_ obsessed with Muggle objects.

The library was a faded sort of room, just as Sirius was a faded sort of man. Both had lost their polish and glossiness from years of neglect, and while the fires burned in the sconces the shadows lurked in the corners, waiting for the light to snuff out, waiting to devour.

Sirius was just about to wander down to the Potions section of the library when he heard it: a sniffle. He whirled around, and was surprised to see Harry's friend Hermione curled up on one of the brown leather couches, quietly crying her heart out.

"Hermione?" The girl started, so lost in her own grief that she had been unaware of his entrance.

"Oh, hey Sirius," she said, quickly wiping her eyes. "What are you doing in here?"

"It's my library," he replied with a raised eyebrow. "And I'd ask what you're doing in here, but I think I already know." It was obvious to him, after all, that this little witch was in love with his godson. "Pining after my godson, are you?" he asked with his signature Marauder grin.

"What?" Hermione asked. "No, no. Of course not. We're just friends."

Of course they were bloody just friends, they were all of thirteen! (Sirius conveniently forgot, for the moment, that his first kiss had been at the tender age of eleven.)

"Of course, but that doesn't mean you can't miss him." He moved over to the couch, staggering a bit from the firewhiskey still in his system, and sat heavily. "Now, why don't you tell Uncle Padfoot all about what's bothering you?"

Hermione had been acting oddly since her arrival two days before. Sirius did not know her well, but he knew a bit about her from Harry's letters during the past year. Listlessly wandering a pureblood mansion and not asking a single question did not sound like the curious know-it-all Harry was sure to mention in each missive.

"I'm adopted," she blurted. "And they don't want me anymore. I have until Christmas to find a muggle guardian, but I don't know how emancipation works in the wizarding world, and they don't love me and I don't know what to doooo-" Her rambling was cut off with a heartwrenching sob.

Sirius found himself with an armful of crying teenager and a mind full of confusion. He could not believe that someone would throw away this brave girl, the one who had helped save his very life (and done something very illegal in the process).

Vividly, he recalled the night that his own parents threw him out of the house for refusing to continue his lessons in Dark magic. At the time, he had told James that his parents disowned him for not joining the Death Eaters. In reality, Blacks bow to no one – he was almost certain Regulus had gone behind their parents' backs in order to join Voldemort. Blacks also believe in being prepared for the worst, and being the dramatic family that they are, the worst was always imagined to be far worse than it ever could possibly be. Hence, the need for a knowledge of Dark magic and how to protect oneself against it.

For years in Azkaban, Sirius relived that night in his mind. He knew now that Orion, and to a lesser extent Walburga, were trying to protect him from the likely future where he would be attacked with Dark curses. In his infinite sixteen-year-old wisdom, though, that was not how he saw it. Orion had cast him out, convinced that any son too stupid to save his own life by any means necessary was not worthy of the title of Heir.

Some days, Sirius was sure he was right.

Nevertheless, he knew to some extent what Hermione was going through. Damaged as he was by his years of imprisonment, even he knew when it was appropriate to offer empathy.

"Shh, witchling, it'll be alright," he said, awkwardly hugging Hermione.

"So that's what's been bothering her," someone whispered from behind him. He doubted Hermione heard over her tears, so he turned slightly in his seat to see who had spoken. Remus and Tonks were standing in the doorway, both with tears in their eyes.

"Moony, get over here," Sirius mouthed, directing his eyes back at the sobbing witch in his arms. The other two adults hurried over and took seats at the couch perpendicular to Sirius and Hermione's. The teenage witch, startled by their approach (_she really is lost in her grief_) jumped back from Sirius as the other two sat.

"Oh, Professor," Hermione said, hurriedly wiping her eyes.

"Remus, Hermione," Moony gently corrected. "We heard what you told Sirius."

"We are so sorry, poppet," Tonks said, barely restraining her maternal urge to comfort the girl. When Hermione broke down again, the older witch all but launched herself at the other couch. Sirius was dislodged somewhere in the tangle of crying females, and gratefully pulled himself up next to Moony.

"What are we going to do?" Sirius asked Remus.

"We haven't been able to get Harry away from his bloody awful relatives-"

"That's mostly my fault. And Dumbledore's right, he has to be there for his own protection. This is different."

"You don't have to worry about it," Hermione said, overhearing them somehow. "I'll handle it. I can do this."

"You can barely make it downstairs to breakfast," Sirius said. This, of course, kicked off another round of sobbing.

"Nice one, Padfoot," Remus said.

"Well it's true," Sirius said. "And she barely eats when she does. I don't know why Molly hasn't noticed yet."

"Could she go with the Weasleys?" Tonks asked, now cradling Hermione to her.

"Don't you think they have enough children?" Sirius asked.

"Mrs. Weasley doesn't seem to like me all that much," Hermione said, by way of agreement.

"Nonsense," Tonks said, although she didn't look so sure.

"We'll think of something," Remus said with a reassuring smile.


	4. Victim

Chapter 3: Victim

A/N: Sorry for the long delay, life tends to get in the way and I've (frankly) been much too lazy. New year's resolution: write more!

Please note that Delphinism is not a real thing, it's something I'm making up as I go along.

Just a warning, there's a boatload of angst ahead. They're teenagers, and this is moody OOTP Harry (who I remember just _hating_ the first time around). Everything will get better, but things are pretty heavy right now.

I'm making an effort to write longer chapters - let me know what you think!

* * *

"Honestly mate, she's been a nightmare," Ron said as he led Harry up to their shared room. Harry nodded, too lost in thought to muster a verbal reply. There was too much on his mind, between the Ministry hearing and Voldemort's return at the end of the last school year, for him to even acknowledge the palpable tension between Ron and Hermione.

_Bet they'll be dating before the year is out_, he thought glumly as he settled his trunk at the foot of his bed. His two best friends had always had a love/hate thing going on, and everyone else seemed certain they were bound to be one of Gryffindor's great love stories (much like Harry's parents). Harry went along with the crowd's opinion, although those assumptions unsettled him on some level – what did he know, after all? It's not like anyone had ever told him they loved him, at least not in his memory. Maybe the bickering and harsh words were what love was supposed to look like, and his half-formed dreams of support and laughter were just that – dreams.

"All she does is read in the library or talk to Sirius and Professor Lupin and Tonks. Don't even know rightly what they talk about... probably something boring, like history of magic or some such. I can't even get Sirius to talk Quidditch with me anymore!"

"Yeah," Harry said absentmindedly, sweeping his eyes around the dusty room. Where did all the dust in this place come from? To hear Ron talk, you'd think all they had done for the last two months was clean, clean, if Harry had spent the last two months of holidays doing the same thing under Aunt Petunia's baleful eye, he would have liked the company.

Harry sat on the bed, staring into space, wondering what he was supposed to do about the Ministry hearing. It seemed like only yesterday that Cornelius Fudge was greeting him at the Leaky Cauldron after the Blowing-Up-His-Own-Aunt-Debacle. Today, he was in trouble for defending his cousin from the most vile creatures to walk the earth (well, other than Voldemort). Just another example of how fickle the wizarding world could be – the experience of the Tri-wizard Tournament was still fresh in his mind. Having the entire school turn on you leaves a lasting impression, and Harry found himself hesitant to trust anyone.

Well, that wasn't true. He trusted Sirius to have his best interests at heart, even if he did sometimes get his priorities messed up, and Professor Lupin. And Hermione – she had stood by him last year, as much as she could with still trying to be friends with Ron and the rest of the school. Still, she had helped him and been there for him right before the First Task. He never told her, but the hug she gave him before going out to face the dragon was one of the few things (besides necessity and sheer pig-headedness) that compelled him to leave the Champion's tent.

That's why her behavior was so odd lately – she should have been writing him all summer, been there to greet him when he arrived at Grimmauld Place, been up here with him alongside Ron and Ginny. Harry knew from experience she would break the rules if she thought it was worth it, so the excuse that Dumbledore stopped all of them from writing didn't sound quite right to him. There was something she wasn't sharing, which worried him. He wondered if she was going to pull away from him now that he might not be returning to Hogwarts, if this was the last straw for her.

_Wouldn't surprise me. After all, she'd still have Ron and Ginny and everyone else._

"That's not all she does," Ginny said quietly from the doorway. She still acted shy around Harry, but to a lesser degree than the last few years. "Tonks took her shopping yesterday, said she needed cheering up or some such, and Mum wouldn't let me go with them! Can you believe that, Harry?"

"Did you ask why?" he interrupted as Ginny geared up for a rant.

"Why what?"

"Why Hermione needed cheering up?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Oh Harry, that was just Mum's excuse for why I wasn't able to go. I'm sure Hermione is fine, they just wanted to keep me on the outside like always."

Harry was about to open his mouth to defend Hermione when Mrs. Weasley yelled up the stairs that supper was ready. Down in the kitchen, Hermione finally got her chance to greet Harry. If he didn't notice the bags under her eyes, or that her hug was a little tighter than even Hermione hugs normally were, well, he can be forgiven. He had a lot on his mind, after all.

"Here you go, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, handing goblets of pumpkin juice to Hermione and Harry. "Drink up now, you're both growing!"

Harry hid a grimace – pumpkin juice had never been one of his favorites. In fact, he found the wizarding preoccupation with it to be rather odd. There were so many other flavors out there that were, well, better. He was partial to lemon-lime anything when he could get it, but he sighed and drank the orange-hued beverage down as he tried to be grateful that someone cared enough to feed him at all.

Dinner progressed as normal, but Harry found himself annoyed with Hermione's silence. Usually Hermione quizzed him about his stay with his relatives within five minutes of his arrival – fussing over how they didn't feed him, noting the tears in his clothes and muttering about how she was going to sew them up at the first available opportunity. Tonight, however, she seemed as lost in thought as Harry had earlier. The kind glances sent her way by the adult non-Weasleys perplexed Harry – they were on par with the ones directed at him.

Why was everyone going out of their way to be kind to Hermione? Did they know that she was here out of obligation? Did they know that Hermione planned on abandoning Harry, like so many before her?

He resolved to get to the bottom of Hermione's issue as soon as possible.

After dinner, everyone but Mrs. Weasley retreated into the drawing room. The adults gravitated towards the couches grouped around the fireplace, and Harry pulled Hermione aside.

"Are you all right?" he asked. Hermione averted her eyes to the ground.

"Oh yes, I'm splendid," she said, in a much quieter tone than usual. Alarms rang in Harry's head.

"Really? Then why do you look like someone ran over Crookshanks with a car?" Hermione winced.

"Don't you have enough to worry about?" Hermione asked, catching Harry off-guard.

"What does that mean?"

"Well, with the Ministry and everything. I'm almost certain they can't expel you from Hogwarts, but I haven't had time to examine the case law as thoroughly as..." she trailed off when she saw Harry's glare.

"What do you care? You didn't write all summer."

"I wanted to Harry, but Dumbledore-"

"If you wanted to you would have found a way!" Without either noticing, their voices had risen and drawn the attention of everyone else.

"I tried! I wrote you six letters, and they all returned by different owls. The last one had a warning on it from Dumbledore himself!"

"Sure, whatever Hermione."

"I'm not lying, Harry!"

"Yes you are! I know you don't want to be here, you don't want to be associated with a _freak_ like me!"

"That's not true!"

"Of course it is! So just get out of here, you know you want to!" Harry regretted his words almost immediately, as Hermione's face crumpled and she ran from the room in tears.

"What on earth has gotten into you, pup?" Sirius asked, crossing to the corner where Harry stood fuming. Professor Lupin followed. The others left as unobtrusively as possible – the twins and Tonks toward Hermione's room, Ron and Ginny back down to the kitchen to speak with their mother.

"Me? What's gotten into her?" Harry said, the words pouring from his mouth without first consulting his brain. "Hermione never lies to me. I don't-"

"She's going through a tough time now, Harry," Remus said in that placating way of his, but Harry ignored him.

"Oh, I see. I'm the one who's under investigation for saving my own bloody life, who has a Dark Lord hot on his heels, whose parents are bloody _dead_ and _Hermione_ is the one having a difficult time? If that were true, she'd tell me about it. And she's not telling me anything!"

"Now see here, pup," Sirius said, stepping into Harry's personal space. "I know that you're going through something difficult right now, believe me I know all about how unfair the Ministry can be, but that's no reason to drive away one of your best friends."

Harry scoffed and turned away from his godfather, crossing his arms and staring at the wall. Sirius waited for a long charged moment before snorting derisively.

"You have never been less like your father, Harry Potter," Sirius sneered.

"Padfoot!" Remus said in a warning voice. Sirius made an impatient noise and left the room, followed swiftly by the werewolf.

Harry made his way to his room and sat on the somewhat dusty bed. With a weary sigh he fell backward and stared up at the ornate ceiling, wishing he could rewind the clock and just let the Dementors take his soul.

* * *

Hermione was miserable, and all the shopping trips in the world could not ease her sadness. Her parents were not her parents, and they didn't love her enough to even pretend to care. She'd visited Gringott's with Tonks, hoping that they might have some way to test her blood to find out if her parents were magical. The imposing but polite goblin who had escorted them to a private room had given a firm 'no'.

"Without a writ from the Ministry, we cannot provide this service. The only way to obtain permission from the Ministry is if your magical guardian agrees to it, and I understand that Albus Dumbledore is a very busy man these days."

Yes, that had been an unwelcome piece of information. Headmaster Dumbledore was the de facto magical guardian for all muggle-born students, and he surely had better things to do (like run the super-secret vigilante group that stood as the last defense against a power-hungry Dark Lord).

With a sigh, Hermione had requested that half the liquid assets of the account her parents had given her be transferred to Gringott's, and that half of that be invested prudently. The goblin had bowed and assured her it would be done before Tonks hauled her to Madam Malkins to buy robes that were "not a Hogwarts uniform and twice as sexy."

Tonks' frank way of talking often caused Hermione to blush or laugh unexpectedly, which she hoped was the kind Auror's intent. Along with George and Fred, Tonks had been doing her best to ensure that Hermione enjoyed at least part of her summer. Unlike the twins, Tonks was privy to the details of Hermione's predicament. She did her best to distract her new friend with shopping and tales from her days in the Auror Academy - however, the most useful thing Tonks did that summer was take Hermione to a used bookstore down Knockturn Alley after their meeting with the goblins.

"Now, as a member of the law-keeping community I shouldn't be seen in a place like this," Tonks said as she guided Hermione towards the shady road, "so I won't be!" With that, Tonks morphed into what she told Hermione was a younger, slightly more fit copy of her mother, Andromeda Tonks neé Black.

"Why would we want to come to a place like this?" Hermione said in an undertone as the Auror guided her to The Grimoirie.

"There are other ways of determining your family line than going to Gringott's or the Ministry," Tonks replied in an equally low voice as they entered the narrow store. "Sirius recommended we look here if the goblins stonewalled us."

"What, you mean they actually could have helped us?" Hermione said, turning wide eyes on her new friend. Tonks nodded and a cynical smile spread across her face.

"With the goblins, everything is about the right price. If you were a Black or a Potter, they would have fallen all over themselves to help you find your family line. Prats."

"A Black or a Potter," Hermione said as she started to peruse the shelves. "What about a Malfoy?" The Ferret was always going on and on about how powerful his father was, Hermione was surprised that name didn't trip right off Tonks' tongue when naming influential magical families.

Tonks snorted. "Oh, Malfoys are a bit _nouveau-riche_-"

"At least by goblin standards," a cool voice interrupted. Hermione and Tonks spun around. "But then, that's only because we came over after William the Conqueror made these lands habitable." There, in a dingy bookshop, stood Narcissa Malfoy neé Black in all her black-laced-Dark-witch glory.

"Oh, hello Aunt Cissy," Tonks cooed as she discreetly moved Hermione behind her. "How are you these days? Killed any innocent muggles today?"

Narcissa laughed, a cultured and haughty sound. "Oh, I am so glad that your mother was removed from the family. She seems to have passed on her crass manners to her daughter. Come now, won't you introduce me to your little charge here?"

Hermione took a deep breath as she stepped out from behind Tonks. Narcissa was unlikely to leave them alone until she'd gotten her dig in at the muggle-born. Hermione did her best to not twist her hands nervously in the bottom hem of her light-weight purple button-down shirt. She took comfort in the fact that her hair was behaving today, and the bags under her eyes were less noticeable thanks to a cosmetic charm Tonks had shown her that morning.

"How do you do, Lady Malfoy?" Hermione said with a small curtsy. "I am Hermione Granger."

Narcissa's face froze, but not in the expression of distaste Hermione expected. There was almost a glimmer of... _recognition_?

"Of course, Draco has mentioned you several times. I hear that you are often called the brightest witch of your age? Quite the accomplishment, for a muggle-born." Hermione ground her teeth together and did not respond to the obvious bait. Narcissa smiled.

"And what, might I ask, brings an Auror and a muggle-born to this particular section of the world where they might be most unwelcome?" Hermione kept her face as neutral as possible, but Tonks bristled next to her.

"None of your business," Tonks said quickly. "Though now that you mention it, we should probably be going. Come on, Hermione." She pulled on Hermione's arm, and was surprised when the younger witch did not comply.

"We could possibly ask the same question of you, Lady Malfoy," Hermione said. "Perhaps we could help each other? Or simply agree to live and let live?" Narcissa laughed again, colder than before. The gaze leveled on the young witch turned calculating.

"I'm afraid that I can't share that information, my dear. However, I must ask, do you have an aptitude for Arithmancy?"

Hermione's eyes widened, but she quickly corrected. She had expected Narcissa to say something catty and leave, not further the conversation."I've been told that I do, ma'am."

"Then you might wish to look at the books over there," Narcissa said, pointing at a dusty corner toward the back of the store. "I think you will find them most... enlightening."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked. Tonks pulled on her arm.

"They're probably all booby-trapped or something. Come _on_, Hermione."

Narcissa shrugged. "I've been told that you are practically Ravenclaw in your search for knowledge, Miss Granger. Perhaps you are not yet wise enough to consider all sources before you disregard them."

With a wary glace at Narcissa's retreating back, Hermione followed the older witch's directive to the corner labeled "Delphinism". Many of the books were tattered and dustier than the shelves which they sat upon, spines labeled in Greek, Latin, and (oddly) French. This posed no problem to Hermione – she had learned French as a young child, and found the necessary charms for translation of the other two languages during her first year. She was steadily working her way toward a non-charmed understanding of both Classical languages... in her spare time... between working toward House Elf liberation and keeping Harry alive.

She sighed as she perused the titles, Harry's angry words from two nights before coming to the front of her mind. She hated lying to him, she really did, but he had enough on his plate right now. On some level, she was ashamed of how her parents had treated her. It shook her image of herself, made her question any worth she might have thought she had. If the people who were supposed to love her couldn't, why would anyone else? Hermione was normally a very logical young lady, but in matters of the heart we are all fools.

Pushing such maudlin thoughts from her mind, Hermione examined the French titles. One in particular, _La magie dans le sang_, by J. Génime called out to her. She picked it up, and looked at the copyright. With a grin, she noted it was published in 1980, making it practically brand new by wizarding standards. Flipping to the references section in the back, she was delighted to find lengthy annotations for each reference material.

Fifteen minutes later she also picked up _Oi arithmoí ti̱s Psychí̱s _and _De Anima et in mundo_, both of which were highly recommended within the references. Tonks was on the other side of the store, looking for anything that might help Hermione determine her bloodlines. Hermione joined the Auror, and they picked out a few likely-looking tomes before making their purchases and heading back to Grimmauld Place.

* * *

Titles:

_La magie dans le sang: _The Magic in the Blood

_Oi arithmoí ti̱s Psychí̱s: _Numbers of the Soul

_De Anima et in mundo: _Of the Soul and the World


	5. Agency

A/N: More than one reviewer pointed out Sirius's mental slip about Hermione's age. It was completely intentional, mostly so I could have the little moment in the first section below.

I realize that I'm going a bit overboard with the Weasleys, which is not my normal MO. I try to make everyone as realistic as possible, and I find it hard to believe that some people are this horrible. Let's just put it down to the plethora of Weasley-bashing fics I've read and leave it at that, hm?

As with _By Candlelight_, I have been outlining this fic. Unlike _By Candlelight_, it is giving me absolute fits. Pretty sure I know where I'm headed, but I apologize in advance for any long delays in updating. For all that it's giving me trouble, I do seem to be able to write longer chapters for this fic.

* * *

The remaining weeks of summer wound down, taking any fleeting joy with them. Harry was cleared by the Wizengamot but ignored by Dumbledore. Ron and Hermione received their prefect badges, Harry lost his temper several more times, and Ginny kept out of all of it.

Molly unwittingly rubbed salt in Harry's wounds by throwing a little celebratory dinner for her youngest son, and by extension Hermione. Molly spent the dinner fawning over Ron, making sure he helped himself to seventh and eighth servings (a record, even for Ron). Hermione, knowing this was a big night for Ron, tried to keep her disgust with his lack of table manners to herself. It didn't help that Tonks kept trying to trade disgusted glances with her.

Since Grimmauld Place's kitchen was occupied by the little party, Dumbledore decided to meet with his spy in the drawing room. Severus was a man of few words, most of them spiteful, but he was clever and trusted by Dumbledore as well as Voldemort. After he made his report, Snape asked for permission to do some research in the Black family library. Dumbledore, being the way he was, gave permission without checking with Sirius first.

And so the Potions Master made his way to the second floor, where the door to the Black family library was (even though the library spanned multiple floors, including the first one). Snape moved quietly, dodging from shadow to shadow out of habit, and opened the door near-silently. It was thanks to this that he was able to overhear a most interesting conversation between two of his oldest enemies:

"They leave in a few days and we still don't know how to help her, Padfoot," Remus was saying. "What did you do when you were emancipated from your parents?"

"I wasn't so much emancipated as adopted by the Potters. I was close enough to seventeen that it wasn't worth doing all the paperwork. As you know, I'm still Lord Black. They didn't disinherit me, or disown me, not like the Muggles are doing to Hermione."

Snape froze. _Hermione Granger's parents don't want her anymore? How interesting. The Dark Lord has been asking about her of late. I wonder how I can turn this to my advantage?_

"And besides," Black continued, "I was almost of age when my parents kicked me out. Hermione is only thirteen after all."

There was a long pause in which Snape could almost _hear_ Lupin's eyes roll. "Fifteen."

"What?" Black asked.

"She's fifteen, almost sixteen according to Tonks. Hermione, your godson, Ronald, they're all fifteen."

The ice in Black's glass of Ogden's clinked coolly as he knocked back the rest of the liquor. "Fifteen you say? My, my, my, where does the time go?"

* * *

The morning they planned to leave for King's Cross was hectic, even with the Ministry cars and additional help (or perhaps because of both those things). Hermione for one was glad that Tonks was there, as the older witch made it her mission to send Hermione back to school in style. And, because she saw herself as something of an older sister to the almost-legally orphaned witch, she couldn't resist giving her a piece of advice.

She had noticed the bags under Hermione's eyes growing in the weeks since their visit to the Grimoirie. At first she just thought that Hermione wasn't sleeping because she was up fretting about her emancipation, but she began to question that assumption after the fifth time she caught Hermione reading in the library during the wee hours.

"Be careful with those books we got at the Grimoirie," Tonks said as she brushed Hermione's hair. The younger witch nodded.

"Of course I'll be careful. They're so fascinating, though. I can't seem to put any of them down." Tonks chuckled.

"I've never met anyone who soaks up knowledge like you do, Hermione. You're like a little sponge!"

"Show me that spell again," Hermione replied. Tonks laughed and waved her wand in a sweeping gesture and muttered a bit of Old French, causing the rest of Hermione's bushy curls to settle into silky spirals. Hermione patted her hair while looking in the mirror. "Where on earth did you learn that?"

Tonks smirked. "I may be a Metamorphmagus, but my mother isn't – and her hair is almost worse than yours!" The Auror laughed while Hermione chuckled. Truth be told, the gradual makeover Tonks had been giving her during the summer was helping her to keep her grief at bay. She was learning new things – granted, things that she had previously considered unimportant – things that would help her build a new image of herself. That resolution brought its own set of problems, however.

"Tonks? Can I ask you something?"

"Better make it quick," Tonks replied, checking her watch. "We need to be downstairs and ready to go in ten minutes."

"Well, do you think that by dressing... better and looking like this," she gestured to her hair and lightly made up face, "that I'm, well, that I'm not being me?" Tonks blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's just that... oh, how do I put this? I want people to respect me for my mind, not for the packaging. What if they see me looking like this and start thinking about me in a way that might be unflattering to either, or both?"

Tonks knelt so that she was eye-level with Hermione, who was seated before an ancient vanity.

"Now you listen to me, Hermione, and you listen good. There will be those who tell you that because a witch takes pride in her appearance that she must be lacking in other areas. Those people are wrong. You are choosing to look good _for you_, because you want to present a respectable young lady to the world. You are not doing this for anyone else, right?" Hermione nodded. "Then who gives a fig what others think?"

"But isn't it, I don't know, shallow to worry about how I look? To let the world know that I take the time and effort to look like this?"

"Hermione," Tonks said, turning the girl so she was facing the mirror. "You always looked like this. We just shined you up a bit."

Hermione looked skeptically at the well-fitting light blue top and her newly purchased, slightly tight, tan corduroy trousers.

"Boys don't have to worry about this stuff," Hermione muttered. Tonks snorted in response.

"Oh they do, everyone does. And anyone who says they don't is selling something."

Hermione's face scrunched in disapproval as Sirius bounded alongside Harry on the way to King's Cross. Things had been rocky between the Boy-Who-Lived and his godfather for the last few weeks, but it was plain to Hermione that Sirius did not want Harry to return to school. Or rather he did, but he was sad to see him go.

Tonks and Remus were walking on either side of Hermione, speaking to her in low, alternating voices.

"You might want to consider speaking to Minerva when you reach the school-"

"We'll keep looking, we promise-"

"For the emancipation stuff as well as how to find your parents-"

"Her _birth_ parents, Remus."

"Yes, Nymphadora, that's what I meant-"

"Don't _call_ me _'Nymphadora'_."

Hermione giggled at the well-worn argument, quietly assured them that she would speak to her Head of House, and thanked them both before dropping back to walk with Ginny. She had spent a lot of time with the adults this summer and she could tell that Ginny was getting suspicious.

Well, more suspicious.

"What was that all about?" Ginny asked as they turned the last corner to the station.

"Oh, just asking them some questions about O.W.L.'s," Hermione said, pushing her hair back from her face. Ginny did a double-take.

"Are you wearing makeup?" she asked, squinting at Hermione's highlighted features. Hermione blushed.

"Just a touch. What do you think?" Ginny shrugged.

"It looks alright, I guess."

Harry and Sirius disappeared to say goodbye as the rest of their group crossed the barrier to Platform 9¾. Hermione followed Ron and Ginny into a compartment near the middle of the train, huffing in annoyance when Ron neglected to help her put her trunk up on the luggage rack. Honestly, he could be so churlish sometimes

She took out _De Anima et in mundo_, the binding carefully concealed behind an opaque red protective cover purchased at Flourish and Blotts, and picked up where she had left off reading the night before. Harry joined them a few minutes later, eyebrows drawn together in thought as he placed his trunk next to Ron's and sat down beside his best friend – across from Hermione.

The foursome were silent as the train pulled out of the station, each lost in their own thoughts. (Especially Ron, for whom the idea of having independent thoughts was something of a new concept.)

Harry was busy thinking over Sirius's wise words (_The world isn't divided into good people and Death Eaters._) To look at Hogwarts, you might think that. It always seemed to come down to whose side you were on: Gryffindor or Slytherin. Light or Dark. Good person... or Death Eater. The thought that there might be a third option, or even more, intrigued Harry more than he thought possible.

Especially when he considered how little the Light had accomplished since his entry to the wizarding world, Harry listed all the things that Dumbledore had failed to accomplish for him. His godfather was still a fugitive, despite the fact that Harry, Hermione, and Dumbledore knew that he was innocent. After witnessing Dumbledore's put-down of the Wizengamot during Harry's hearing, the young wizard found it increasingly difficult to believe that the headmaster was not similarly capable of obtaining Sirius's freedom. What did Dumbledore have to gain by keeping Sirius locked up?

As a consequence, Harry was still under the guardianship of people who hated his very existence. Given that Harry was the so-called Savior of the Wizarding World, would it have been so hard to find another family to take him in? The Weasleys surrounded him at every turn - why couldn't he had grown up with them? Surely his old family money could have supplemented theirs.

Harry shuddered at the idea of growing up with Molly Weasley as his _actual_ mother. _Never mind, maybe Dumbledore had the right of that one._

So maybe the old goat got one thing right, but then there was the whole people-trying-to-kill-him-thing. No one else had stood up to Voldemort as often as Harry; no one, not even Dumbledore, seemed to have engaged with the Dark Lord as much as Harry. Why was that?

These were big questions, and poor sleep-deprived Harry kept turning them over in his mind as the train sped toward his true home.

Hermione, on the other hand, was caught up in the study of Delphinism. It seemed to be exactly what she was looking for, if you read between the lines. There was a great deal of discussion of the intertwining of magic and soul, indeed that magic was just another expression of the soul, but nothing yet about how to measure it. Hermione wasn't worried, however. She was taking her time with this book, making careful notes in French in the margins using a number two pencil (easier than ink to erase later on).

Honestly, the study of something new was a perfect distraction from everything else going on in her life. Between this, worrying about Harry, and lessons in 'being a girl' from Tonks, she was able to forget for minutes at a time that her supposed parents didn't want her anymore.

The two Weasleys thoughts, however, centered on the Muggle-born witch across from them and just why she was wearing makeup. Ginny, ever suspicious, wondered if this was Hermione finally making a play for _her_ Harry. Ron, ever the gentleman, just wondered why she bothered. No one was going to see her as anything more than the unpleasant bookworm she was. More importantly, he wondered just _who_ she thought was going to see her. She was his!

"So, Hermione, you look nice today," Ron said as they entered the prefect's carriage. Hermione stiffened.

"Thank you, Ronald," she said.

"I mean, you look more like a girl and stuff," he continued as he followed her to an empty seat. "Though you're still dressed, you know, like you." Hermione raised an eyebrow and silently counted back from ten.

"_Thank you, Ronald."_

"I mean-"

"I think we all know what you meant, Weasley," a familiar voice drawled. "Despite the utterly uncouth manner in which you chose to express the sentiment." Hermione looked up to see the oh-so-hated face of that perennial tormentor, Draco Malfoy. Having met his mother and father now, she could pick out the features gifted to him from each parent. His mother's cold gray eyes and regal nose, the well-shaped mouth and pointed chin that was all Lucius as well as his height.

_I wonder if the marriage between Lucius and Narcissa was arranged just so they could get that color hair_, Hermione wondered. _Like breeding dogs for their coat._

"Shove off, Malfoy," Ron said, his face heating to the familiar Weasley red. "No one asked you."

"You're right, they didn't. But I'm going to express my opinion anyway." He turned to Hermione, and she braced herself for the insult that was surely coming. She looked away from him, straightening her shoulders.

Here it comes, any minute.

Any minute now.

"Looking good, Granger," Draco said. And nothing followed. Tentatively, she turned her eyes back to him, and saw only sincerity in his face. Well, what passed for sincerity in Malfoy – which meant that at least there was no active malice.

"Thank you, Malfoy," Hermione said, hesitant and in all honesty quite confused. Then, to her great surprise, he bowed before moving to the other end of the carriage. Ron turned to her, the suspicion in his features quite familiar. It made his resemblance to Ginny even stronger.

"What was that about?" he asked in a loud voice.

Thankfully, Hermione was saved from answering when the Head Boy called the meeting to order.

* * *

That evening, once the rest of Gryffindor House had turned in, Harry Potter sat in his bed with the curtains drawn and thought harder than he ever had in his life. Hermione's explanation of Umbridge's speech fit in with his own questions about the Light's actions since Voldemort's reappearance.

_The Ministry's interfering at Hogwarts._

And Harry was all too familiar with how the Ministry operated – that is, in direct opposition to any sort of logical thought. Cast first and ask questions later. Lock up an innocent man just because we're pretty sure he did it, never mind giving him a trial. Let the famous kid blow up his aunt when we're fairly certain someone is trying to kill him and _then_ punish him when we're denying that there is _absolutely_ someone trying to kill him.

The only question remained: what to do about it? What could he, Harry Potter, do for himself that ensured he would survive having the world against him?

His thoughts drifted to Hermione, who had been there for him during early days of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. What had been her answer?

He grinned, remembering the grueling training sessions she had put him through. She had stayed up all night to make sure he had the Summoning Charm down pat. She had searched tirelessly for new spells when the maze was announced, anything to ensure that he came out of the tournament in one piece.

In short, she had researched.

Harry glanced down at his holly-and-phoenix wand, which he was twirling idly in his hand. If he had learned anything in over four years as a student at Hogwarts, it was that this was both a tool and a weapon – shield and sword in one compact package.

The answer was so obvious, he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner.

He stashed his wand under his pillow and resolved to use the mirror to call Sirius in the morning.

* * *

A/N 2: So, at this point the board is set. Now let's have some fun! Angsty, stressful, fifth-year fun.


	6. Authority

Authority

A/N: Many apologies for the delay, folks. Thanks for all the follows, faves, and reviews. You guys keep me going!

* * *

Hermione patted down her hair, observing the effects of the charms Tonks had taught her. While she didn't think she'd gotten it quite right, there was still a marked improvement in her appearance. Her hair was still a bit on the bushy side, but nothing like previous years. Her uniform was slightly more tailored, showing her figure in a way that was not slaggy, and she had charmed pink gloss on her lips. She looked more like herself, not like an entirely different person.

Still, she was nervous. She had never given much thought to her appearance before this year. Honestly, she felt like she was obsessing about it a bit. The comments she was certain would come her way, the sidelong looks...

_Still, better they ask questions about my appearance than my summer._

Hermione made her way down to the common room eager to greet the new school year. This year she was certain would be different. New classes, new books, new Hermione.

* * *

Fifth year was more overwhelming, and awful, than even Hermione could have predicted – so in that way, it was indeed different. Monday passed in a haze of assignments and admonitions to take their O.W.L.'s _seriously_.

Perhaps the darkest point was her meeting with Professor McGonagall in the afternoon. Though McGonagall had long ago approved her O.W.L. schedule, it was tradition for Heads of Houses to meet with their fifth-years for career counseling.

McGonagall gave Hermione a small, prim smile as she poured them tea.

"Well, Miss Granger, I trust you are finding that your classes are not beyond your capacity year?"

"I'm afraid I'm a bit overwhelmed, Professor," Hermione said. "However, I'm sure once I get into the swing of things everything will fall into place. The key is to stay organized."

"Indeed, Miss Granger," McGonagall said. "And you've had no run-ins with authority?"

Hermione gave her a look of confusion. "I've not yet had Professor Umbridge, if that's who you're referring to, Professor..."

"I was referring to the incident at the end of last school year, in Professor Vector's class?" McGonagall said. "I was unable to mention it to you before the end of last school year, but Septima was most upset. She came to me that day ranting about forbidden topics and disrespectful students. I was extremely disappointed to find out she was referring to _you_."

"My apologies, Professor. As I told Professor Vector, I did not know the topic was forbidden." McGonagall gave her a stern look.

"I feel honor-bound to remind you, Miss Granger, that your professors were chosen to teach for a reason. The magic of the school would not accept them if they did not have your best interests at heart."

Hermione bowed her head, overwhelmed by McGonagall's vehemence... and by the fact that she had a forbidden book in her bag at this moment. Specifically _Numbers of the Soul_, the oldest of her Delphinism texts and thus the one that had been banned the longest. Since 1562 actually.

She had checked.

"Well, I think we can let it slide this once, Miss Granger. See that it does not happen again."

"Of course," Hermione said, rising to leave. Naturally, at that moment the seams on her bag burst. The books, inkwells, and quills within spilled out on the floor. And, naturally, _Numbers of the Soul_ landed on top of the pile.

McGonagall gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Miss Granger!" she exclaimed, scooping up the book ."This is a highly illegal book! Wherever did you procure a copy?"

Hermione gathered her spilled possessions quickly, keeping her head down as she replied. She was a terrible liar, and knew her red face would give her away.

"I found it in the library at Headquarters," she said breathlessly. "It seemed like something that could help Harry. I didn't tell anyone, but I intended to put it back at Christmas-"

"I think not! I should burn this book, it is full of vile ideas-"

"No! Professor, please. Let me send it back to Headquarters. It might be imbued with Dark magic – surely Remus will know how to destroy it safely."

McGonagall's nostrils were flared, never a good sign. She surveyed Hermione for a moment, before nodding.

"Very well, but I will be checking with Mr. Lupin to make sure that he destroys it. Are we clear?"

Hermione nodded and gingerly accepted the book before stuffing it in her bag.

"Oh and Miss Granger," McGonagall said as Hermione turned to leave. Hermione glanced back at her over her shoulder. "That had better be the _only_ banned text in your possession. They are banned for a reason, young lady. It would not do for anyone to discover that you've been reading such unsavory materials."

Hermione nodded, frightened out of her wits by being discovered. "Of course ma'am!"

She said nothing else as she left, heart racing in her chest.

* * *

Harry seemed distracted during the first week of classes. He and spent more time up in the boys' dorm than down in the common room, and managed to keep his mouth shut during Umbridge's awful classes. Hermione wished he could do the same around her. It seemed like Harry and she did nothing but snap at each other. Things had never healed quite right after their fight his first night at Grimmauld Place, and she fretted that she had waited too long to mend the rift between them.

It didn't help that she never seemed to catch him alone anymore. Either Ron or Ginny were always around now, the latter surprising Hermione. She had expected Ginny to return to her own friends when the school year started, but she was sticking to Harry like Devil's Snare.

_Probably finally doing something about that crush she's had on him forever_, Hermione thought as they headed down to Potions on Friday afternoon. _Just like Ron always said she would_.

Despite all the discouragement from Ron, and the not-so-subtle signals from Harry himself (he hadn't even complimented her new look once, which, fine he was a boy but even _Ron_ had noticed), Hermione still carried a torch for her best friend. There was simply no one like him – no one as inherently good, as unintentionally sweet, or as funny. She tried not to laugh at his dark jokes or sarcasm, but honestly she had a hard time putting on the disapproving face they expected of her.

Between her distress over Harry and the unresolved situation with her parents, sleep had been hard to come by. She knew there were bags under her eyes, though they were invisible thanks to the glamour charms she employed, and she was not one hundred percent attentive in class.

She rarely raised her hand in class anymore. After the first day of hearing herself referred to as 'Miss Granger' twenty times, she found it easier to keep her hand down. She needed no more reminders of the parents who did not want her.

Potions was more painful than usual. Snape was doing his bat routine around the dungeon with more than his usual alacrity, praising Malfoy and his cronies for their mediocre successes and sneering at the Gryffindors – especially Hermione. HE spent most of the lesson hovering over her work-space, watching closely as she added ingredients to her batch of Ascelphius's All-Heal. When he finally gave a disapproving sniff and left in a billow of robes, Hemrione took a relieved breath.

Harry caught her eye and gave her a reassuring smile and a glare in Snape's direction. She shrugged back, inwardly rejoicing that Harry had noticed her however briefly and glad that the worst of Potions was behind her.

Then her cauldron exploded.

She didn't know how it happened – she had followed all the instructions on the board, read the chapter three times (once last year, once over the summer, and once again the previous night), and had only the necessary ingredients set out on her table. Instead of screaming or babbling as the lime green liquid splashed over her uniform and hair, she sighed in defeat.

This year really was rubbish.

The whole class stared at her in shock. Hermione Granger did _not_ mess up in Potions and even if she did she certainly wouldn't look so resigned about it. Snape swooped down on her and she sighed again.

"Miss Granger, what is the meaning of this?" She flinched at the sound of her false surname, but answered as best she could.

"I don't know, sir. I followed the instructions on the board and in the book."

"Obviously not," Snape said. "Clean this up and stay after class." Hermione sighed again as Snape walked away.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, leaning over the table separating them. Hermione looked at him and gave a wan smile.

"Just splendid, Harry," she replied with heavy sarcasm. His eyes narrowed.

"You know you're going to have to tell me what's going on with you eventually, right?" Hermione shook her head.

"Between that Umbridge woman and the rest of classes, Harry... don't you have enough to be getting on with?" Harry opened his mouth to reply but Ron elbowed him before he could get a word out.

"Snape's coming back," Ron hissed. Indeed the Potions Master was approaching them with a thundercloud on his brow.

"I don't see much cleaning going on, Miss Granger. Is this beyond the reach of your insignificant knowledge?" Snape said.

"No, sir. Sorry, sir." Hermione got to work and ignored all further attempts on Harry's part to speak with her.

Once the rest of the class had left, and Hermione's work station was cleaned up, she approached Snape's desk. "You wanted to speak with me, sir?"

"Yes, Miss Granger" - she flinched again - "about your performance in your classes this past week. Your teachers have noticed your lack of participation, and your inattentiveness. As they are all far too enamored of your so-called intellect to speak to you about it, the _delightful_ task has fallen to me to drag you out of whatever adolescent drama has diverted your attention." Hermione was confused.

"Begging your pardon, Professor, shouldn't my Head of House be the one to have this conversation with me?"

"Normally yes," Snape said. "Tell me, Miss Granger, why do you flinch when addressed by your family name?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir," she said, looking down to hide her lie's tell-tale blush.

"You don't, Miss Granger?" She flinched again and a not-so-nice grin crossed his face. "As I thought. Now, you will tell me what is going on beneath that tangled bush of hair or I will have the dubious pleasure of seeing you in detention for the rest of the week?"

Hermione's eyes darted back to him at that. "Oh no, but sir, I have so much work and with prefect duties I have so little time-"

"Then I suggest you get on with telling me," Snape interrupted her rant. Hermione sighed. She didn't really have a choice.

"I found out over the summer that I was adopted. The Grangers said, in so many words, that they no longer consider me their daughter. They have requested that I be emancipated from them, both in the Muggle and magical worlds." The tears started coming, despite Hermione's efforts to restrain them. "They seem rather well-read on the Muggle laws regarding emancipation and have made provisions-"

"The point, if you please," Snape interrupted. Hermione took a deep breath.

"I am unaware of any sort of emancipation process in the magical world. Also, they have requested that I find a wizard or witch with contacts in the Muggle world to stand in as a guardian, per the Muggle law. They really want to have it done by Christmastime."

There was silence for a long time after that, enough for Hermione to get herself under control and start to panic about the secret she had divulged to Snape. While Sirius and the others had encouraged her to speak to McGonagall it had been understood that she would keep it a secret from everyone else.

"I do not know who could stand in as guardian for you," Snape said. "However, there is an emancipation process in the wizarding world. I'm surprised Black did not share it with you." Hermione gasped and her head shot up.

"You knew!"

"Yes, but that is not relevant."

"But-"

"Do you want my help or not, Miss Granger?" Her flinch said it all.

"It is possible for you to take your O.W.L.'s early, at the end of first term - around Christmastime in fact."

"But, I won't be ready to take my O.W.L.'s around Christmas! I'm barely ready now!"

"That's why many do not take them early. However, I'm fairly certain that a little know-it-all like you has already read each book for this year thrice already, correct?" Hermione blushed.

"Except for the text assigned by Professor Umbridge, yes."

"I expected no less," Snape said with a sniff. To Hermione that almost sounded like a compliment.

She took a moment to consider what Snape had told her. Sirius and the others had been unable to provide her with a solution just yet, and the prospect of getting her O.W.L.'s out of the way while also solving the problem with the Grangers was both daunting and appealing.

Also, it wasn't like she had much of a choice.

"How do I go about taking my O.W.L.'s early, sir?" Snape stood and circled the desk to tower over her.

"How do you think, Miss Granger?"

"I - I write to the Ministry requesting it?" Snape shook his head.

"No, _you_ do not. _I_ do. One of your teachers, any of them really, can request that you be allowed to take them early." Hermione's face reflected her confusion.

"Then why don't more people take them early?"

"Because most of them can barely pass after a year of preparation, never mind three months."

"And you think I can, sir?" Snape glared at her.

"It is not a matter of _can_, Miss Granger. I think that you _must_. Now begone from my sight, I will let you know when I receive a reply from the Ministry."

* * *

Harry and Ron loitered in the hallway, waiting for Hermione after their Potions class.

"What do you think Snape wanted?" Ron asked.

"Dunno," Harry replied, running a hand through his hair in irritation. "Probably to yell at her about her potion."

"Yeah, sounds like Snape," Ron replied. Then he squinted a bit. "Still, not like Hermione is it? Letting her potion get away from her like that?"

Harry shook his head. "No it isn't."

In truth, Hermione had been anything but predictable this year. She got defensive about the weirdest thing. All they did was yell at each other, and it felt like she was pushing him away harder than before.

_'Enough to be getting on with', my arse. _He could deal with Umbridge – Sirius and Remus had already given him some pointers, via his late-night conversations with them in the mirror. Remus had recommended some Occlumency exercises to help him rein in his temper, and Sirius just made him laugh. He had yet to talk to them about his ongoing issues with Hermione – he had not forgotten how Sirius took her side after the big fight at Headquarters, nor how she spent so much time with Remus during the summer. In truth, he was not sure what to ask them because even he did not know what he was doing wrong.

Hermione hurried toward them from the Potions corridor, a hopeful look on her face. She certainly didn't look like someone who had received a dressing-down from their scary professor.

_She's so pretty_, Harry thought before he could censor himself. That thought had been harder to control lately, rising unbidden whenever he greeted Hermione after any sort of parting from her. Her hair had calmed down (some days he wished he could say the same of his own), and she was wearing stuff on her face like the other girls did. He thought she even looked prettier than Cho.

Maybe that's why he was constantly putting his foot in his mouth around her. He never did know how to talk to pretty girls.

He glanced at Ron, whose eyes had glazed over a bit. Ron had clearly noticed too. It was only a matter of time before he asked her out, and then they would start dating and-

"Alright?" Ron asked Hermione as she neared them. She gave a little yelp.

"Ronald Weasley! Don't scare me like that," she scolded, placing a hand over her heart.

"You're the one who wasn't paying attention," Ron replied huffily.

"Yes, well," Hermione said awkwardly, adjusting her heavy bookbag over her shoulder.

Harry stifled the impulse to offer to carry it.

"What did Snape want?" Harry asked as they headed to the Great Hall.

"Oh, just to scold me for the accident in Potions," Hermione said, glancing away from the boys. "I promised that it wouldn't happen again and that was that."

"What, no detention?" Ron exclaimed.

"Well, no," Hermione said slowly. "I've been an exemplary student. He was actually fairly understanding about the whole thing."

"Snape? Understanding?" Harry scoffed as they took their seats.

"_Professor _Snape, Harry. And yes, like I said he was very understanding about the whole thing."

Both boys snorted at that, but Harry couldn't stifle the niggling of suspicion as easily as he could his errant thoughts about his best friend.

"Here's your pumpkin juice, Harry!" Ginny said from his left. He almost jumped out of his seat. She had practically appeared from thin air.

"Um, thanks Ginny," he said, not wanting to be rude.

He drank down the orange stuff with a grimace. Nasty drink, but he didn't want to be rude.

* * *

That night, after a mirror-call to Sirius and Remus, Harry lay in bed and thought about Hermione.

Not like that.

Well, not only like that.

She was definitely pushing him away, but he couldn't understand why. They had been saving each other for years – they were partners, best friends. They had saved Sirius together, taken on a troll, she had figured out the basilisk before anyone... she had been his only friend for most of last year, when the rest of the school turned on him during the early days of the Tri-wizard Tournament.

_What changed?_ He wondered. _Did I change?_

Seeing Cedric die, and Voldemort's return, would be enough to change anyone. He was more certain now that he had a role to play in defeating old Snake-face, in avenging his parents and helping save the wizarding world.

The trouble was, he couldn't imagine doing it without Hermione. She was so smart, always knew what to do, always knew what to say to make him feel better or look at things from another point of view...

She had helped him the very first day he'd met her, all those years ago on the Hogwarts Express. It felt like a lifetime, to be honest. She had swooped in, all bushy hair and bright eyes and brusque facts, fixed his glasses for him and told Ron that he had dirt on his nose.

He smiled at the memory, his first and most practical experience with magic. She'd fixed his glasses many times over the years...

_But what do I do for her?_

Strangely, he'd never really asked himself that question before. Well, he had sort of. He often told his friends, at the peak of deadly situations, that they should save themselves and leave him to his fate. Hermione knew that was just his saving-people thing, right? He couldn't let anything hurt her, or Ron – they meant too much to him.

_Does she know that? _

Maybe if they could be around each other without fighting for longer than two minutes he'd get a chance to tell her.

* * *

Hermione sat on her bed and chewed her lip, undecided as to what to do. It had been five days since McGonagall scolded her and threatened her books. Five days for her deeply ingrained respect for authority to war with her thirst for knowledge.

Hermione was thoroughly Muggle and scientific in one sense – she believed that the pursuit of knowledge was inherently a good thing, especially when that knowledge could help her friend survive a war.

Her secret, banned books and the journal recording her observations and ideas were spread out on her bed.

Numbers of the Soul was the oldest of her books, the one that McGonagall had found. It outlined early attempts by Pythagorean wizards in ancient Greece to reconcile their love of numbers with the nature of magic. According to the other texts, it was the basis for all other studies of Delphinism going forward. Unlike later texts, the Pythagoreans did not differentiate between the magical core and the soul.

While fascinating, it did not explore more than the relation of Arithmancy to determining personality and the possible uses in quantifying magical power. Hermione thought it was a good grounding in this banned application of Arithmancy, but ultimately not useful for her purposes.

Of the Soul and the World was a deeply flawed text from the 1200's which speculated that the souls of exceptionally powerful magicals are drawn to each other. Low on facts and high on anecdotes, the unnamed author did not further the Arithmantic findings of Numbers of the Soul but thought they might be useful in proving his theories if they were ever proven true.

In the middle the author went off on a tangent about how to use core-based magic for protective spells, and this was the section that Hermione had studied most closely. Her notebook was full of possible applications and notes to check more conventional books in the library.

The Magic in the Blood was the most recent of the three books, it was an exploration of how magic was passed down in families and how those families were bonded together at the soul level. The book it referenced most heavily, Sanguinas Veritas, had not been available at The Grimoirie – but Hermione could follow the lines of logic from the two other books she had. Like the other two, it was all about magical power and bloodlines.

She found the book personally distasteful, but there was a section about soul bonds and the possible boosts of magical power they provided that she found interesting. She would not admit, not even to herself, that she hoped she could help Harry with that kind of magic.

Alone each text might be questionable, but taken together they could be dangerous. If it all came down to magic and blood... who's to say Voldemort and his cronies would not use that knowledge to justify the awful things they did?

With a shiver, she piled the books in a neat stack and hid them in the cupboard beside her bed and locked it with a charm of her own device. Her journal she kept out, and settled in to review her notes on the core-based protective spells. There were other books she could check before she put some theories to the test.

She would find another way to help Harry, even if he stayed angry at her for the rest of her life.


End file.
